


Hermione Gets Her Groove Back

by JJJJ12



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12623220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJJ12/pseuds/JJJJ12
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Hermione has suffered two full years of dirty dreams featuring a  Ronald Bilius Weasley. Finally fed up with losing a solid six hours of subconscious academic thought, she seeks out a solution to her problem.





	Hermione Gets Her Groove Back

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy

She was brilliant. Bloody brilliant, even. She could recite books from front to back without blinking, make Polyjuice potion by age 12, identify the signs of a werewolf before most adults, manage to get Outstandings on virtually all her OWLs, even give that git Malfoy a nice black eye. Yet, for all her aced exams, over-written essays, ink soaked blouses and hours of sleepless night, she still couldn’t figure out the most difficult task ahead of her.

Hermione Granger bolted up in her bed (if you could call it her bed), shaking and dripping sweat. She was starting to feel like Harry, waking up in the middle of the nights from these… dreams. She shifted uncomfortably, turning to her side, and caught the gaze of the redheaded girl laying beside her in the process.

“You alright, Hermione?” Ginny asked quietly, herself awake with thoughts of the future pounding through her head like a bad Potions lecture or a rogue Bludger to the head.

Hermione dwelled on that question for a moment. She was alive, yes, not injured, yes, confident Harry was in no harm, yes…. But was she alright? Far from. She hadn’t been alright since the beginning of fourth year. Because something changed that summer. 

That summer was the first time she really felt scared. Not being petrified (she supposed she didn’t really feel that at all), not fearing the supposed deranged Sirius, or the werewolf form of Professor Lupin, or the presence of Peter Pettigrew. Not even from running for her life from Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup, or losing Harry in the process. 

That summer was the first time she really felt scared, but also the first time she really felt protected. In the split second that fear overcome her, looking around the outside of the tent for a familiar oaf of a boy with red hair, it also disappeared. Because as soon as his hand grabbed hers, rushing her to safety, holding her close, she only felt protected.

So here she was, three summers later, back at the Burrow, feeling scared, but protected. Now, outside the walls of the Weasley home, outside of all the charms and jinxes and hail Merlins they could say, she truly had something to fear. But then again, she had something to fear within the walls to. And his name was Ron. Ronald Weasley.

That was when things changed. And they started off innocent enough. She liked the way his hair would stick to his face in the heat of the summer, or how is lanky limbs looked in one of his Christmas jumpers, or the way he’d move closer and closer to her as she read one of his mediocre school assignments. 

Then something shifted. Hermione couldn’t recall exactly when. Perhaps it was when she stumbled onto him holding that Prefect badge, or all the close meetings and moments alone, or seeing him in his Quidditch kit for the first time. She let out a strangled cry.

Because from that moment forward, sometime in that most terrible, awful, nightmare inducing fifth year (and that said something given the Lav-Lav incident of the previous year), Hermione realized that she was weak. She was weak like Parvati and Lavender and all the Gryffindor boys. She was weak like Seamus and his lewd stories. She was weak like Fred and George’s collection of Muggle and Wizard magazines.

She… She… No. She still couldn’t admit it. She shifted back in her bed, still pondering a response to Ginny’s question. Yet, when she shut her eyes, and immediately saw Ron’s tall body, his naked body, crushing hers, she knew she was a goner.

How could Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her generation, have sexual needs too?! Wasn’t that a weakness, something only disgusting boys needed? 

She let out another cry and buried her face in the pillow, forcing herself to think through all the wizard and muggle literature she had read in her lifetime. And she had read a lot. From great muggle classics such as Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, and Wuthering Heights, to more… acquired wizarding tastes, such as The Warlock and his Mistress, The Head Boy Gets His Groove Back, and The Witch and the Shag Potion. She sat up with a bolt. Dear Merlin, when had her reading tastes moved from academia to… passionate love stories?

Ginny gave the Hermione another curious look. “You don’t look okay. Do you need some water or something?”

Hermione finally took a deep breath, willing herself to look at Ginny. “Can I ask you something? You know… Girl to girl?”

Ginny couldn’t help but laugh. “As opposed to what? Guy to guy?”

The brown-haired girl stirred in her spot on the bed again and sighed, pulling her knees to her chest. “When you and Harry were together… Did you…?”

Ginny smirked, enjoying her bedmate’s discomfort. “Did we what? Hang out together? Oh sure, loads.”

Hermione let out an exasperated groan. “Did you two make love or not?”

The room grew quiet—Hermione couldn’t believe she had asked the question aloud. Ginny, meanwhile, stood staring at the wall, a small smile growing on her lips, clearly thinking about the previous year.

“Well?” Hermione’s small voice finally broke the silence.

Ginny looked away from the blank wall to look at her bedmate. “Curious thing to be asking at a time like this, given he and I aren’t together anymore and You-Know-Who wants to wipe us out.” The red-haired girl paused. “I’d say I hope this isn’t where you tell me you’re deathly in love with him, but I know you aren’t.”

The younger girl collected her hair into her hands and began to braid it, acting as if nothing had happened. Hermione let out another whimper.

“Of course, I’m not in love with Harry! Ginny… Please…”

Ginny dropped her fresh braid and sighed dramatically. “Yes, Harry and I shagged. A lot. Like… Any time we were alone. We started getting creative, especially with the cloak. Wonderful invention that thing is. I reckon whoever created it was a legend.”

Hermione let out a groan and collapsed back on the bed. It was silly to ask. She knew Ginny and Harry must have been getting intimate. Harry had become far too happy, far too relaxed before Dumbledore died. She knew hard snogging couldn’t make a smile like that appear.

“I’d be happy to have another quick shag before you guys leave to do whatever you’re going to do, but he doesn’t deserve it. Not after his bloody ridiculous speech on why he had to end things,” Ginny added half-heartedly, losing the drive in her voice by the time she had finished her sentence.

Hermione frowned and gathered the blankets around her body, looking for a source of comfort, even in the disgusting late summer heat. She had noticed Ginny’s features sadden. Suddenly she felt selfish for bringing the topic up.

“But I reckon this isn’t about me and Harry,” Ginny added after a brief period of silence. “This is about you and the ghoul in the attic.”

Hermione was suddenly grateful for Ginny’s humor, and couldn’t avoid the small giggle that escaped her lips. When she finally looked up from her shaking hands, she met Ginny’s eyes. 

“You’re really good for him Hermione. And… Whatever you’re feeling about him, I bet… No, I promise, he’s feeling the same thing,” Ginny added.

At this, the brunette blushed, her mind drifting back to her dream. Her very explicit dream that included the pair of Gryffindors shagging against the wall of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, as the nagging ghost watched delightedly. The heat must have been getting to her. That was a rather weird dream compared to most nights. It turns out shagging Ron had become a favorite of her subconscious. 

“I’ve been having these dreams lately,” Hermione finally spoke up, although her eyes looking anywhere but Ginny. “I realize you don’t want to hear about me and your brother---“

“Go on,” Ginny interrupted. “Believe me, I’ve walked in on much worse, even within the last few days with Phlegm and Bill over.”

Hermione nodded bashfully and continued. She wasn’t used to feeling like Crookshanks had her tongue. “Well… They’re very explicit. We’re always… Shagging. And not normal shagging! Never a bed. Always against a wall. In the shower. On the breakfast table. One even had Professor Flitwick walking in and filming us with a muggle camera.” At that Hermione covered her face, too ashamed to look at the red-haired girl beside her.

Ginny just laughed. “My, my, Hermione. That’s very normal shagging! Well. Flitwick excluded. You think Harry and I didn’t hit those?” She laughed again and smiled as her mind filtered back to the memories. “And Merlin, I’ve been having some bloody great sex dreams since I was 13. You mean to say you weren’t?”

Hermione looked at her, rather confused. “No. At 13 I dreamed about house elf rights, every N.E.W.T possible, and finally learning how to fly a broomstick like the witches in muggle literature.”

The red-haired girl groaned, suddenly feeling like she was talking to a six year about where baby wizards came from. “Hermione, it’s completely normal to be having dreams like that. Yeah, I suppose maybe I got rowdy early on since I was surrounded by all my gross brothers but… You’re not thinking things that other witches haven’t thought before.”

At that, the brunette bit her lip, deep in thought for a few moments. “Right. Okay. So. How do I stop these dreams?”

Up to that moment, Ginny had tried to stay composed. She really, truly, on Merlin’s honor, did. But at that request, she just about fell off the bed as she laughed. “Hermione… You shag.”

“Excuse me?” Came a squeaky voice from the 17-year-old witch.

“Merlin’s beard, Hermione! You’re horny, don’t you get it? I reckon your body has had it up to here! You’ve what, snogged a guy once? Get yourself a nice, hard shag, and I promise you’ll be in much better spirits.” At that, Ginny shifted in her bed and shut her eyes, trying to pick a good memory of her and Harry to fall asleep to. They had never made it to the Quidditch team room. Perhaps that’d be a nice dream…

As Ginny drifted off into a rather pleasant dream, Hermione stared at the ceiling, thinking about the red-headed boy a few floors above her. Was Ginny right? Was the solution to all her stresses and escalating dreams just a quick shag?

She thought long and hard about who else she could talk to. For a fleeting moment, she considered talking to Harry about it. Immediately deciding that probably wasn’t the best idea, she thought of the other females in her life. Her mom was now out of the picture. Mrs. Weasley, in all her over-protectiveness, would probably not take too kindly to Hermione’s desire to shag her son to shreds. She didn’t know Fleur, and couldn’t imagine their conversation going well. She even considered Luna and Tonks, before deciding that she already knew the answer to the problem.

Ginny was right. A quick shag would do it. Effectively, she had an itch to scratch. Once she knew what shagging was like, she would surely stop dreaming about it. She really desired her dreams returning to fighting for social justice and academia, not Ron’s toned chest and rather large…appendage.

Shifting into the bed, she shut her eyes, content with her decision. Before their journey began, she’d get this shag over with. This would permit her dreams to return to their true task at hand---helping Harry take down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

\--------------------

As Ron shoveled probably three eggs into his mouth at once, he couldn’t help but notice the determined look Hermione was sending in his direction from across the table. For a quick, albeit scary second, he raked his brain trying to remember if he had done something to make her angry.

After deciding he hadn’t (or Merlin help him he hadn’t) he bit into his toast, too nervous to meet her uncanny stare. It wasn’t worrying him anymore—perhaps it was having the opposite effect. His jeans were beginning to feel a little tight and he could feel a fresh flush traveling up the back of his neck.

With Harry across the table, he leaned to his side to Ginny, hoping she’d know why Hermione wouldn’t take her eyes off him. “Say, Ginny, ‘Mione mention being angry at me? She’s looking at me like she’s about to tear me to shreds.”

Ginny just smirked and spread some marmalade on her toast. “I reckon she’s going to do a lot more to you than tear you to shreds.”

Ron gulped. He spent the rest of breakfast thinking over all the interactions he shared with Hermione the day before. 

Across from him, Hermione downed her tea with one gulp, her eyes still set on Ron. It was a shame she didn’t have the library at her disposal to help her plan. She brought her toast to her lips and took a ravenous bite. Good training, she thought. There would be no library to hide in when they began their journey.

\----------

That night, Ron flipped through an old Quidditch book, every few moments darting his eyes to Harry, who seemed to be enamored in his birthday present. Ron smirked.

“It’s a bloody good book, ain’t it? Everything you need to know about charming a witch,” he said to his friend.

Harry peered up from the book, fixing his glasses in the process. “This how you landed Lav-Lav?”

Ron scowled and shut his book before getting up. “Sure, it’s all fun now, but she helped me perfect my snog technique. At least my first snog wasn’t…wet.”

Harry opened his mouth to shoot back about being the first to shag, but decided to keep that tidbit to himself, unsure about how Ron would react to him deflowering his little sister. Instead, Harry just smiled and flipped the page of his book.

“You’re such a git, sitting there smiling like you know something I don’t,” Ron shook his head before grabbing a lump of clothes from the floor. “I’ll be showering.”

With that, Ron left a grinning Harry and stumbled into one of the bathrooms. As he pulled out a nice, fluffy towel (his mom had grabbed the good stuff in preparation for the wedding), he nearly reamed his wand into an antsy Hermione, who had just barged her way into the bathroom and performed a locking spell on the door in the same breath.

Finally realizing what had transpired in all of 5 seconds, Ron dropped the towel and stared at Hermione. “Bloody hell woman, are you mental?” He managed to squeak out.

Hermione ignored him and looked around the bathroom, evaluating the space for her plans. Quickly muttering “Muffliato” with a flick of her wand, the brunette turned to face the tall boy in front of her. Upon taking in his naked torso, she gulped. She was standing in front of a tall man. Not a boy.

“Ronald,” was all she could muster out.

Ron swallowed and stared at her, both incredibly turned on yet scared. He was afraid she was going to attack him. He also liked the idea of her body on his, and desired to have her attack his. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled out.

Hermione took a shaky breath, deciding she had wasted enough time. “I have been having dirty dreams about you since I was 15. So, upon the advice of your sister, I was told to have a quick shag to get rid of said dreams and to ‘relax’ me.”

Ron opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“Now, I’m asking you once. Can I continue?”

Ron managed to nod his head, not sure if he was dreaming, dead, or having the simultaneous best and worst joke ever played on him.

“Perfect,” Hermione declared, before unceremoniously pulling her blouse and jeans off in two quick movements. 

Ron blinked. His eyes hastily travelled up and down Hermione’s lithe frame, appreciating every one of her subtle curves. He had only ever dreamed of this moment. Frequently. About every night since he had turned thirteen, if anyone was curious.

“Okay!” Hermione announced, once she had rid herself of all clothes, standing in front of a dazed and almost naked Ron. “So now… You just have to take off your pants and then put it inside me. Easy. Okay.”

Her rather brash description of their upcoming actions finally knocked Ron out of his dazed state. “Uh. ‘It’? What is ‘It’?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Well, your penis Ron. Surely you know how sex works.”

That caught his attention. He let out a laugh, causing her to frown. He quickly swallowed the chuckle. “’Mione... Do you know how shagging works?”

That caused her to growl and slap his arm. “Of course I know how shagging works! How…Why… Of course I know!” She sputtered again.

Ron took a step closer, caging the naked brunette against the bathroom wall. “No, love, I don’t reckon you do. First off, I’m gonna put my cock inside you. But not until I get you all nice and hot and ready for me. This ain’t going to be a quick shag, ‘Mione. We’re gonna snog and steam the windows without even turning the hot water on.”

Hermione finally let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Then it happened. His lips were on her, rough yet soft, fast yet slow, cautious yet wild. Just like the two of them, complete opposites, their kisses seemed to defy the laws of physics and magic and anything in-between.

The tall boy lifted his tiny witch onto the sink, moving himself between her naked legs. Their passionate snogging continued, and Merlin, he knew it was the best fucking snog of his life. Her hands had unconsciously drifted into his ginger locks, pulling at the hair like it controlled the rest of his body.

Merlin, Merlin, Oh sweet Merlin was all that ran through Hermione’s fried brain. Ron’s lips had trailed down her neck, leaving soft kisses in their wake. Sure, she had shared a kiss with Viktor during her fourth year, but his soft peck was nothing compared to what she was currently experiencing. She grinded against Ron’s body, desperate for some sort of release that she never knew she needed.

Ron, recognizing the signs of her movements from all the muggle…videos he had seen in the past, grinded back against her, groaning deep in his throat. With one hand pushing her legs further apart, he dropped his pajamas to the floor, releasing himself to the warm air of the small room. His hands creeped back up her smooth thighs, before one dwelled into her core, feeling her soft, damp center.

Hermione let out another desperate cry. Hands were touching places no one but her and a muggle lady doctor had been and bloody hell did it feel wonderful. Struggling to open her eyes just for even a second, she caught a glimpse of Ron’s determined gaze at her body and his…cock. She let out another cry. Merlin’s balls. She was finished. 

He could barely take it. Her moans were killing him. He needed her and he needed her now. After moving his lips back to hers and engaging in another passionate snog, he finally pushed himself inside her willing body, gasping as he filled her completely.

She flinched, feeling herself adjusting to the foreign intrusion. “Ron,” she managed to whisper, her arms tight around his neck.

Ron lowered his gaze to hers and swallowed. “Yes, ‘Mione?”

“You can move. It’s okay.”

With her words, he began to move his hips, becoming surer with every thrust that this was the best day of his life. His lips met hers in another passionate but messy snog.

Hermione let out a soft cry and pulled his body closer, one hand digging her nails into his freckled back, the other pulling at his ginger locks for support. Her lips drifted from his, placing haphazard kisses along his face.

Ron took a shaky breath as his thrusts became more desperate. Knowing what was coming, he moved his hand to her center, rubbing and touching anything he could get his hands on. His lips met hers in another passionate embrace, and as he felt his own release, he felt Hermione tighten and let out a loud cry into the muggy air.

He dropped his face to her shoulder, gasping for air. After a few moments, Hermione pulled at his hair, trying to get the freckled teen to meet her eyes, which were now filled with tears. Ron froze, paralyzed with fear.

“Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

She sniffled and hit his chest. “Of course I’m fine. But she was wrong.” With that, she began to cry.

Ron gulped. “She was wrong?”

“Yes!” Hermione cried out, running her hands along his naked chest. “She told me one time would be enough but it’s not. Ron… I…”

Before she could finish her statement, Ron grabbed her hands and raised them to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss on each and met her tearful brown eyes. “I love you, ‘Mione. This was… This was bloody brilliant.”

Hermione sniffled and pulled his sweaty face back to hers for a sweet kiss. “I love you too, Ron. Oh gosh. I can’t believe this just happened.”

Ron just chuckled and wrapped his arms around the brunette witch. “I can’t believe it did, but I’m bloody thrilled about it.”

After a few more moments of gentle snogs and a quick shower which they may or may not have repeated the past hours events in, they began to dress. After a moment of watching Hermione blissfully, his face fell. Hermione noticed with a frown.

“Ron?”

“Did you say my sister said you needed a quick shag?”

“Um…Yes,” Hermione bit her lip, knowing where the conversation was heading.

“Why in Merlin’s name would Ginny know anything about a quick shag?”

Hermione just stared at Ron for a few moments, watching as a bleak realization crossed his flush features. Before she could yell at him not to, his wand was lifting spells and storming down the hall into his own bedroom. Upon forcing the door open and discovering an empty bedroom, he sprinted down the stairs of the Burrow and towards Ginny’s room.

Before he could even touch the door, it flew open and a content Harry sauntered out, his lips bruised, his hair messy (well, messier than usual) and with his shirt in his hand. 

Ron growled. Harry sighed.

“Ginny, you were off by about 5 minutes.” Harry yelled through the crack of the door.

Ginny came sauntering out, wrapped in her fluffy robe and nothing else. “Oh, bugger off Ron. You finally got your own rocks off. Leave Harry alone.”

Before either of the four could say another word, George and Fred apparated into the hallway holding weekender bags, smirking at the situation. Taking in the bruised lips, messy hair, and the state of undress of all four teenagers, they looked at each other before back at the foursome.

“What is this? A brothel?” said George.

“I reckon Harry needed a bit of a pick me up before having to fight You-Know-Who!” announced Fred, smacking Harry’s back. “Bit of a fun fetish though, I must say.”

“I thought three was a crowd!” said George again.

“Not with the Weasleys,” Fred shot back with a grin.

At that, Ron and Harry too mortified to speak, clambered back up to the attic, and the girls returned to Ginny’s room.

Fred looked at George. “I dunno why they were so embarrassed. I reckon we had some solid fun with Angelina and Katie.”

George grinned. “Oh, we most certainly did, Fred. We most certainly did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fin! Hope it was enjoyed :) Please leave your thoughts. I'll certainly be more inclined to write more HP fanfiction if I get some feedback!


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